


Make Me Whole

by Salios



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Abduction, And why the hell can't he ever find a shirt that fits after being abducted?, BAMF Q, Get it?, His past isn't a pretty one, James isn't sure how to deal with his rising interest in Q, M/M, Nudity, Prosthesis, Q just wants his legs back so he can kick Bond, Q wasn't always a boffin of MI6, Rising interest, Scars, Unresolved Sexual Tension, mentions of past violence, possibly resolved sexual tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 20:21:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salios/pseuds/Salios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For their first field mission together, Q imagines things went rather well. Though he could have done without being abducted. He also could have done without seeing James Bond strung up from the ceiling in all his naked glory (he's lying a bit, that part wasn't so bad). But out of everything that happened, he most certainly could have done without Bond finding out about his prosthetic legs.</p><p>In which Q is a BAMF, James is horribly confused and aroused, and Q really just wants his legs back so he can shuffle off into a corner and die of embarrassment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me Whole

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea that I've been sitting on for a while. It's mostly a one-shot, though if I continue it, there will only be one or two other chapters. Likely only one more if I go that route.  
> But yeah, past violence, amputation vaguely mentioned, the gay, yadda yadda.  
> Please leave me your thoughts!

James woke to the clinking of shackles and a burn in his shoulders. Actually, all of him was burning a bit, though most of the pain was indeed stemming from his shoulders. He must be suspended from the ceiling then; a common enough tactic. He woke slowly, training keeping his breathing light and eyes closed. There was light coming from somewhere on his left. It rendered his skin warm, and there was a gentle breeze. Sunlight then. The bits of flooring he could feel under his toes seemed to be old stone, maybe dirt. If what he was feeling was correct, thanks to the wafting of the warm breeze, he was naked.

Lovely.

The room, aside from his own breathing and the clink of his shackles as he swayed, seemed to be empty. Blue eyes flicked open, wincing at the bright light and turning his head slightly to shade his eyes. It take long for his eyes to focus, and when they did the agent took in the room.

As he’d expected, they weren’t underground, at least not entirely. The room was old and dry, with a few puddles collecting in one corner. The stone was partially covered by dirt and moss - an old building then, one left to the tender touch of the earth. Aside from a heavy looking iron door across the way, the room didn’t seem at all used. In the farthest corner, to his right, was another corner, one he couldn’t see until he’d managed to twirl a bit using his toes.

A crumpled lump of pale flesh and dark hair.

James stiffened, remembering. He’d been sent out on a search and retrieval mission with Q, the young man being the best SIS had to offer by way of cyberwarfare. Q’s fear of flying hadn’t been exaggerated -if anything it had been downplayed if his reaction was anything to go by- and the young man had been forcefully sedated. He’d gone limp mumbling, _‘I told you to let me take the valium, but noooooooo_.’ The amusing rambling of a high Quartermaster aside, the flight had been uneventful.

The two had checked into their hotel room, a suite with one king bed that neither man seemed too pleased about, and set up their gear, sniping at each other all the while. Bond had, as per usual, complained that he couldn’t very well share a room with Q - not if he intended to find entertainment during their assignment. Q had shot back that maybe the agent should cut down on his extra-curricular activities, lest he break a hip - he wasn’t young anymore. They had glared at one another for a few moments before simultaneously breaking eye contact. Bond was as fresh as ever and immediately headed down to the lobby for dinner. Q showered and followed him a bit later.

Bond had been snatched up before he’d even gotten in the elevator - a needle filled with some paralytic agent jabbed into his neck as the door opened. He could only assume that Q had gotten the same treatment, if his unconscious sprawl was any indication. The boffin frustrated the hell out of James, but the boy was good at what he did. James could respect that, and work with it. And while he’d wanted nothing more than to either knock some respect into the new Quartermaster or pin him to their shared bed and take him apart -and thus teach him respect through other means- he hadn’t wanted for Q to be involved in this portion of their work. It grated on James that he’d fucked up this badly, and this quickly.

He growled and clenched his teeth before trying to stand on his toes. Maybe he should take up ballet; learn how to do ‘pointe’ or however it was called.

From the pile of pale skin, Q whimpered.

James stopped his struggling, staring back over at Q. The young man’s back twitched, his ribs visible, and curled in tighter. James bit his lip, there really was nothing for it.

“Q...Q, talk to me.” His reply was a flinch and another whimper. James sighed, “Q, I know this isn’t exactly your idea of a good time, and I was, err -” James swallowed his price, “I was a prick earlier. But I need you to work with me here.” He waited a moment, and as he made to speak again, Q shifted.

The boffin’s hands were cuffed behind his back, pale fingers clenching into tight fists and releasing, spastically. Q wriggled around until, -still on his side, lower half obscured by the angle at which James had to look at him and his own curled body- Q’s pale, frightened face became visible. His lower lip had a fresh split in it, the skin rosy and swollen. His eyes were red from crying -not that James could really blame him- but other than that he looked to be the same stubborn boffin as ever.

James smiled as reassuringly as he could, and Q returned it only to pause half way through the motion as his lip pulled. “Alright there, boffin?”

Q stuck out his tongue at James; he was fine.

“Right then, now to get out of this mess. Can you stand? I’ll take some help if you wouldn’t mind providing some.” He watched Q’s face as the young man understood and nodded. He shifted a bit, trying to get his left shoulder under him to lever his torso up. Only he froze instead. His face, an already a pale shade of skin gained from too much time indoors, drained of colour. His lips became a tight, pale line - the split beginning to ooze again. His eyes, blown wide and terrified, stared at James. The gaze was pleading, terrified - James didn’t understand but he needed to. “Q, talk to me, what is it?”

“I-” the young man croaked, cut off by a strangled sob. “I c-can’t-” He scrunched his eyes shut, mouth pinching tighter. His head drooped and James forced his toes to spin his body a little farther to get a better look at his Quartermaster.

“Q, it’s alright, please look at me. Just look at me, we can figure this out.”

The young man shook his head and a sob wrenched free that shook his shoulders. “I-I _can’t!_ ” He fell into stuttered breathing then, sobs cutting off deep inhales and garbled words.

“Q! Bloody hell, tell me! What’s happened!” Q wasn’t the kind of man to panic, he was too analytical, logical - he kept his emotions at bay much the same way that field agents were trained to. Whatever had happened when they were out must have been truly horrific. “Q, _please!_ ”

The young man tilted his head back up to catch James’ stare. His eyes were puffy, nose red. Tears cut pale tracks through the light grime coating his skin. “M-my legs.” He paused to suck in a lungful of air, “Bond, they took my _legs!”_

James Bond, the man who’d seen death more times than he’d dare to count and escaped by the skin of his teeth, froze. His heart stuttered, stomach a weight of ice. He’d seen much, _done_ much, but this? What had they to gain by taking something so monumental before interrogation had even begun?

“Q...Q, talk to me. What do you _mean_ they took your legs. I need you to focus; tell me everything. Keep talking.” It took every ounce of James’ considerable training to keep his voice low and calm. He’s almost lost a finger, here and there -and that one time with the wicker chair in which he’d almost said goodbye to his testicles- but not a whole limb. Certainly not two.

Q forcefully controlled his erratic breathing, eyes not leaving James’. “They’re gone. I can’t feel them.”

“I don’t mean to be callous, Q, but how do you know they aren’t merely numb? There are drugs and procedures that-”

“For _fucks’ sakes Bond!_ ”

James jerked back at the scream. He’d never seen Q lose his composure past snapping over comms, and certainly not to make that kind of sound. It terrified him a bit (well, more than a bit but James was rather good at lying to himself).

Q sucked in a hitched breath, shut his eyes for a moment and opened them again. “I-I’m sorry, so sorry,” he swallowed.

James shook his head, “it’s okay, it’s okay, I understand. Just _talk to me_.”

The young man didn’t waste time; instead of speaking again he wriggled -a flex and roll of his torso and abdomen that, in any other setting, would have most definitely caught James’ attention- until his front was towards the agent. Unlike Bond, the boffin had retained his black boxer briefs. Also unlike Bond, the entirely of his left leg was gone. As was his right from below the knee.

 _Dear lord..._ James steeled himself, eyes scanning the obvious lack of lower limbs. “Q, your right-” he swallowed, “leg, what is that? What is on your thigh.” Whatever they’d done had left the lower part of Q’s...stump...shiny and vaguely metallic. From the joint to mid thigh the limb seemed to be comprised of silver and black. Not any kind of bandaging James had ever seen.

Q swallowed, “my socket.”

“Socket? I don’t understand. What do you mean, ‘socket’?” James frowned, it didn’t make sense.

Q’s breathing was slowing, his restraint falling back into place. “For my prosthetic. I-it’s my own design. The circuitry is hooked into my nervous system and the hydraulics work l-like tendons, fibres like muscle. I-it’s what got MI6 interested in my at the beginning.” His voice only barely wavered as he spoke. With a bit more wriggling in which Q turned his head to face away from Bond’s restrained form, his missing limbs facing the brunette, and sat up. Again, the flex of his lean stomach, in any other setting, would have immediately garnered attention from James. “My left leg i-is the same. I lost them both in the field. My kit didn’t work as intended and left me defenceless.

“It’s why I don’t fly - The rest of my squad managed to eject, but I went down with our _Merlin_. We landed some distance apart; I had to...to...” He clenched his eyes shut and sucked in a breath, “I had to cut through the last bit of my legs to get out. Then I crawled free. They didn’t get to the crash site for another ten minutes after that.”

He stared up at Bond with a wry smile. “I-it’s why I get so mad when you don’t bring back equipment.” His chuckle was weak and pathetic, but there all the same. “How can I improve my work and keep you alive if I have nothing to work _with_?”

James felt guilt crawl along his spine, claws hooking deep. For a Quartermaster to want his expensive toys back was one thing; for a young man who built himself new limbs to lose what could potentially save another man’s life it must have been overwhelming. He swallowed, “I’ll make an effort to bring my kit back then - or more of it.”

Q smiled, “more than nothing is still something, Double-Oh-Seven.” He breathed in and slowly exhaled. “Right. Can’t sit about letting the past tear me apart. Let me just...” Q flopped onto his back again. In another feat of core-strength (really, James would need to somehow convince Q to join him in bed after this) he brought his hips and lower back up to hang over his head. Doing this he managed to bring his arms up and around to his front. The cuffs clanked against the socket on his right knee and Q hissed.

James couldn’t see the boffin’s face, but he imagined the young man was far from alright.

From there, all it took was some clever cannibalising of his socket to create a lockpick (or pull a readymade one from his prosthetic joint, whichever) for Q to release his manacles. The young man tucked his cuffs into the waistband on his pants and went about rubbing his wrists, staring around the room.

“If they had any brains they’d be watching us. What do you think?”

James mimicked Q and glanced about what he could see. “They’re probably lacking - though by the state of our cell I imagine they aren’t too modern in their approach.”

Q nodded and tucked the pick back into his knee -James blanched and looked away, much to Q’s amusement- before planting his hands to either side of his hips. “Right then. This next part is going to suck monkey-balls.” Q burst into laughter at James’ incredulous stare; a welcome change from the panicked mess he’d been only a dozen or two moments earlier. It took a bit of rocking, and some clawing at the floor, before Q managed to get upright. He evenly braced his weight between his two arms and his stump, which he’s wrapped in strips from his pants, ‘ _I’d just take them off, but I doubt you’d be able to handle seeing the other socket, Bond. Oh do man up, it’s only a flesh wound.’ ‘Your leg’s off!’ ‘No it’s not, it’s a flesh wound!’_ The men had grinned at each other at the terrible joke, though neither had regained their healthy colouring.

He stumbled over to James and plopped down beside the agent, already out of breath. “Right, so when we get back I’m going to make use of the gym MI6 has so graciously provided all personnel. This is a load of bollocks.” Q braced his arm on the ground to allow James to perch his shin on the young man’s shoulder. From there it was only a matter of James lifting his shackled hands free of the hook he’d been hung by and dropping down to lean against Q. “Hold on a tick,” he fished out the pick, which James noticed really was a lockpick and not some shim job, and quickly removed the agent’s restraints. He once again put away the pick. “Alright, come here, I doubt you’ll be much use until you get blood back into those ham shanks you call arms.”

James shot him a look, “I’ll have you know that my arms are not _ham shanks_ , and they’re widely appreciated by the general populace.”

Q snorted, “hah, _wide_.” Without further comment the boffin began to rub at James arms, hands, and shoulders. His dextrous fingers got James’ circulation going again - though embarrassingly in more than his arms. “Oi, this isn’t a massage with a happy ending, put that away.” Q removed his hands and made a point of looking anywhere but at Bond’s rising interest.

James has the sense to blush. He got to his feet and offered Q a hand up, his hips canted away from the young man’s face. “Are you planning to hobble along like that, or...?”

Q scowled, “don’t you dare make a thing of his, Bond.”

Blonde brows raised, “A thing of what?”

The brunette rolled his eyes and grasped the outstretched hand, tugging. “You know what I mean, you oaf. Now don’t you - **_hey!_** ”

James leant down and scooped up his Quartermaster in one swift movement. With little else to do, Q wrapped his arms around James’ neck, hips wriggling slightly as he was taken from the safe earth.

“Agent, if you think I’m going to tolerate -!”

“Q, do be quiet.” Surprisingly, Q pursed his lips and glared at the blonde rather than continuing. His cheeks were flushed darkly, as were his ears. “It’s either I carry you until we can retrieve your legs, I leave you here ( _‘not a chance, you wanker!’_ ), or you can somehow cling to my back like a baby pangolin without choking me or killing us both.” Faced with these choices, Q wisely stayed silent. Though his glare could peel paint.

It was a simple matter of Q skilfully picking the locked door, _‘childsplay, really,’_  and making their way through the surprisingly empty complex. Apparently their abductors had taken Bond and Q to be a rich pair of newlyweds and intended to ransom them for a rather paltry sum. James was rather offended they hadn’t demanded more. The agent had quickly dispatched the men they’d stumbled across during their way out, restrained them suitably, and called MI6 for extraction.

After securing their once captors, now captees, Bond had located Q’s limbs.

They were, frankly, pieces of art. While lacking an outer membrane that mimicked skin, Q’s legs were comprised of corded fibre for the musculature, wiring for the nerves, and -as he’d said earlier- hydraulics for the joints and ‘blood’. James had watched, enraptured as Q had meticulously cleaned his prosthetics with rubbing alcohol and slotted them back into place. He explained beforehand that when detached both the socket and the limb ‘locked down’, creating an airtight seal and preventing particles or bacteria to enter the points of contact.

The purely euphoric expression on Q’s face, on the other hand, he had neglected to warn James about. The prosthetic injected an anesthetic into Q's bloodstream to ease the process; though James couldn't be arsed to remembered exactly which kind. As the limbs finished their automated sequence of reattaching, Q sprawled out across the table James had perched him on. His back was arched, eyes shuttered, and mouth open in a wordless moan.

James was suddenly very thankful for the trousers he’d managed to scavenge during their escape -none of them men’s shirts had been wide enough for his shoulders- and made sure to angle his rather visible interest elsewhere. Though the younger man had settled for a loose pair of trousers himself, cut off at the knee, his tented suspiciously. James did what he could to avoid staring.

Q had turned to him then, a blinding smile across his flushed face, and thanked him. “I imagine the extraction team would have been so forthcoming about this. And you don’t seem to be treating me any differently because of it...thank you, Bond.” He was slightly out of breath, panting between words.

“James.”

“Ah...?”

“My name is James, feel free to use it anytime, Q.”

The young man smiled again, “maybe one day I’ll tell you mine, hmm?”

James blinked and grinned. He could hear the approach of the extraction team from down the hall. “I’ll hold you to it, Q.”

 


End file.
